


Driving Force

by kaeorin



Series: Stark Tower: Avengers Drabbles [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Post-Mission, Shower Sex, Smut, Stark Tower, Wall Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: The shower has always been your place of respite after missions. Tonight someone joins you there.





	Driving Force

**Author's Note:**

> I know I’ve got other multi-chapter fics that people may or may not be waiting on, but…drabbles are easier. In this one, the reader pretty explicitly has a female body, though it may or may not be up to you as to whether they present as a woman? The title comes from a Leonardo da Vinci quote that kind of grabbed me: “Water is the driving force of all nature.”

It was hard to hear anything over the sound of the water, and that was just how you liked it. The shower was pounding down on you, just this side of scalding, and you let it carry you away—out of your body, out of your own mind, out of everything. Some people drank after finishing a mission. Some people crashed—hard—and slept for a few days straight. Some people locked themselves in a lab and drowned out the world with screaming metal music and entirely too much caffeine. All you needed was a shower. (And then, later, maybe some liquor and loud music and some sleep, but first, a shower.)

You squeezed some of the obscenely-expensive shower gel into the puff and worked it into a lather before soaping yourself down. It was worth it, you thought to yourself as the clean, floral scent surrounded you. There was no better way to get rid of the stink and grime of whatever task you had been charged with completing. The rushing water, and the scent, and the familiar feeling of your own body, they all let you disconnect for a little while and focus on the little things.

But it meant that sometimes you couldn’t hear someone stalking through your room or opening the bathroom door. You didn’t hear anything, in fact, until he was pushing open the shower curtain. Although exhaustion was already turning your muscles to lead, you reacted immediately: turning to face the intruder with your fists cocked in a defensive pose and your lips curled in a snarl.

Dark, stringy hair hung in front of his face, but couldn’t quite obscure those brilliant blue eyes of his. He was in what looked to be a defensive pose of his own—hunched so he was lower to the ground, head ducked forward. It was hard to be sure that he was even seeing you, to be honest. With a pang, you lowered your arms and stepped backwards, away from him. “Hey, Buck.” You kept your voice low. “You okay?” His jet must have just arrived too. He looked exhausted, utterly drained. He might have nodded in response to your words, but it was hard to tell. “Care to join me? Do you need any help?”

This time he definitely shook his head, and backed away from the shower curtain. You were fairly certain that he was declining your offer of help—obviously he wanted to join you, or he wouldn’t have come to your room. You ducked back under the spray to get rid of any lingering soap and heard the rustle of clothing, the heavy thuds of his body armor and boots dropping to the ground, 

Before long, he pushed the curtain open once again, this time stepping through to join you. You gave him a quick once-over as you reached for the shampoo. He didn’t look too badly injured. There were some scrapes and bruises, of course—hardly anyone escaped without some of those—but there wasn’t much blood or any telltale swelling anywhere. He let you turn him around, then tilted his head back so you could reach the top of his head. This wasn’t quite the norm for the two of you, but neither was it a rare occasion.

You washed his hair carefully, and continued rubbing the shampoo into his scalp for maybe a little longer than was strictly necessary. He liked having his scalp massaged, especially after...bad days. When you were finished, you tapped his shoulder blade, and he turned back around to rinse. As he did that, you reached once more for your shower gel. He made fun of you for it sometimes, for how soft and feminine it smelled, but the rest of the team knew better than to tease him when he smelled like you. You smoothed the puff across his chest, scrubbing gently to give him something to focus on. When he was finished with his hair, you took his right arm next. You squeezed his muscles gently, half to try to ease any knots or pain that he might be feeling, and half so you could take selfish pleasure in the feeling of his muscles. He flexed as you touched him. He knew your game. You smiled to yourself and pressed a kiss to his shoulder as you held up his arm to rinse it.

The first time you’d showered together, you hadn’t been entirely certain how to navigate his left arm. You hadn’t wanted to ignore it, and make him think that it made you uncomfortable, but you also hadn’t wanted to look like an idiot by spending too much time on it. Today, though, you just washed the metal arm as you’d washed his other, running the puff along the curves and ridges. The only real difference was that here, you gave his shoulder a little more attention, massaging the scar tissue and running your fingers along where it faded into the lighter skin of his chest. Just as you’d done for the right arm, you kissed his shoulder as you held his arm up to let the spray carry the suds away. 

He still didn’t say a word as he let you turn him away from you to take care of his back. You couldn’t miss how tightly-wound he was, how his muscles flexed and rippled when you touched them. The boy needed a massage, and badly, but you didn’t have the strength to offer him one tonight. You made a mental note of it and dug your fingertips gently into what appeared to be the worst of the knots. He made a sound then, something almost like a groan, and tipped his head forward.

“Raincheck, love,” you mumbled. “Dangling off a building by her fingertips wreaks havoc on a girl’s hand strength.” But you gave one last squeeze, in hopes of tiding him over until next time, and then let the puff travel lower. When each perfect globe of his ass was slick with soap, you let the puff dangle by the strap around your wrist and stepped closer, taking his cheeks in your hands. You pressed your cheek against his back as you groped him, and, unless you were imagining things, you thought you heard a puff of air that _might_ have been something like a laugh. You smiled to yourself before dropping carefully to your knees.

You washed the backs of his legs, appreciating the perfectly-formed muscles in his thighs and calves, and the way the suds caught in his leg hair before the water washed them away. His body was perfectly-crafted to drive you to distraction, and, most days, he was maddeningly aware of that fact. When you were finished, you tapped him lightly to ask him to turn around, and he did. 

Fuck.

You were face-to-face with his cock. He wasn’t quite erect, but you could tell that, at the very least, he was taking some pleasure in the way you were touching him. You tore your eyes away from it to look up at him along the length of his torso. His hair was in his face again, but it was easy to tell that his eyes were fixed on you. Something was haunting him still, but one corner of his mouth curled up into an almost-smirk. Neither of you broke eye contact as you washed his lower belly, his hips, the fronts of his legs. 

When his cock was the only thing that was left, you felt yourself smiling just a bit, but you tried not to let it get too far. He was clearly still working through whatever had happened on his own mission: he probably wasn’t here to get off. But, instead of washing him with the puff, you used your hands. Despite your every effort to keep things clinical, you felt him throb in your hands, and, before long, he was fully erect. You ignored it for as long as you could, but couldn’t keep the question off of your face as you rinsed him. He nodded, something that was at once barely-perceptible and yet wholly unmistakable. 

So you leaned forward, just enough, and took the very tip of his cock between your lips. You heard a rumbling groan and he closed his eyes, gripping your shoulder as though for balance. You crept forward slowly, until you’d taken all of him into your mouth, then hummed gently before moving backwards so you could do it all again. 

On the third or fourth time that you pulled away, you gripped the base of his cock and ran your tongue along his length instead, swirling designs against his skin. His eyes were still shut tightly, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. You pressed the flat blade of your tongue against the underside of his head and squeezed the base lightly, hoping to get him to open his eyes so you could check that he was still okay. And he did open his eyes.

They pierced right through you with unexpected intensity. The sheer force of his gaze made you freeze, uncertain. But before you could find the words to come right out and ask him, he reached down to drag you up onto your feet. He wasn’t gentle as he slammed you against the wall of the shower, but he did at least have the courtesy to slide his right arm around your back when you squealed and arched into him, away from the cold tile. He slanted his mouth across yours, crushing, even as his left hand slid between the two of you. Metal fingers, heated by the spray of water, sought out your entrance and worked their way inside you. It was a welcome intrusion. He swallowed your moans, not breaking the kiss as his hand claimed you. His thumb brushed against your clit, making you gasp. 

When he was apparently satisfied by your arousal, he pulled back just far enough to make eye contact with you again. You could feel his breath, hot against your lips. He let his fingers slide out of you, leaving you with a curious sense of emptiness, but then pressed them against your mouth. You let your lips close around him without thinking about it. It was always a little strange, tasting yourself on the metal of his left hand, but you...well, you didn’t hate it. 

Some of the ghosts in his eyes had faded, and been replaced by a wild longing. When you curled your tongue between his fingers, his eyes grew wider, and his jaw clenched. He pulled his hand away, only to trail it down your chest. He weighed one breast in his hand, tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You couldn’t help it: your eyes slipped closed as you arched a little closer to him. This time it had nothing to do with the cold tile.

“I fucking need you.” His voice was rough. It made you wonder what had happened, whether the roughness was from shouting orders or screaming or simply not using his voice at all while he was gone. Even now, with you mewling and squirming in his arms, he was asking permission. A sob rose up in your chest—this beautiful, gorgeous man—and you tugged his head down so you could kiss him, hard.

When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, but kept his eyes downcast. He was waiting for your answer. You slid your tongue between your lips to wet them, a nervous habit, and nodded. “Then fucking take me, Barnes.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He hiked you up into the air like you weighed nothing, and you felt him rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance. When it was fully coated in your wetness, he lowered you down against him, slowly, so you both could savor the slow burn as he pressed inside you. You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips and threw your head back carefully against the wall. It had been too fucking long. He had his face buried against your neck—even in the heat of the shower, you could feel his breath coming hard and fast against your skin. Maybe he felt the same way.

When he didn’t move after a few moments, you did it for him, grinding your hips in tight, slow circles. You felt, more than heard, his groan against you, and then came a sharp pain as he nipped your skin. A warning? You slid your fingers through his hair and laughed, but did not stop moving.

Before long, he tightened his grip on your thighs and pulled out of you, barely giving you enough time to breathe, let alone enough time to protest the sudden loss, before he slammed back into you. It stole your breath away. He did it again. He didn’t often use his full strength when you were together like this—you knew it made him uncomfortable, made him worry about hurting you—but today he was...brutal. And you loved every second of it. You dug your fingernails into him, undoubtedly leaving deep marks on his right shoulder, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. All you could do right now was lose yourself in the things he was making you feel.

“James...” His name rose to your lips unbidden. For the most part, you didn’t even really know what you were saying. But the sound—his name, and the breathy, desperate way you said it—affected him deeply. You could feel it in the way he throbbed within you and in the way he accidentally pinched your clit as he moved his hand to touch you. It only stoked the fire in your belly.

You opened your eyes, and held his gaze as he fucked deep inside you. The look in his eyes made you realize that he was chasing something beyond release. Still gripping him tightly with one hand, you moved the other to caress his cheekbone, to smooth his hair away from his face. The water was pouring down his back, cascading over his chest. Fuck, he looked like a goddamn god right now. You drew in a ragged breath of your own and squeezed the back of his neck. “You are so fucking good, Buck, you know that?” The words were weak and even overused, but you meant them in every sense. He needed to know that.

He responded by closing his eyes and letting you slide down the wall just far enough so you could brace yourself with one foot. He wrapped his arm under your other leg to keep it hitched high against him. You whimpered as the new angle allowed him to fill you just slightly differently—and in the best way. He sank his teeth into the tender flesh where your neck met your shoulder, and you allowed the sweet pain to ground you. It kept you centered even as he threatened to send you spiraling off into the stars. 

Just as you were beginning to get lightheaded, you heard him growling against your throat. “Mine. You’re fucking mine. All mine.” Despite the roughness of his voice, it sounded like a litany. Between that and his relentless pounding and the way his thumb was still circling your clit, it was all too much. You tightened your grip on him, as some kind of warning, but you should have known it wasn’t necessary. He fucked you through the waves of pleasure, growling in your ear as your body went taut and you howled his name.

He wasn’t far behind. You were still shivering, wracked with little aftershocks of pleasure when you felt him shudder and press himself more solidly against you. You drew him even closer with your leg around his waist, working your fingers through his hair and whispering soft praise as he came. When he finished, he didn’t move for a while, and kept you pinned against the wall with his body while he rested his temple against yours. 

“You’re so _fucking_ good,” you repeated as your heart rate returned to normal. “Every bit of you, James. Every part of you.”

He lowered his head and you felt him kiss your shoulder—more specifically, a tender spot that you knew was sure to bruise. Slowly, you felt him slide out of you, and he stepped away for just long enough to retrieve the bath puff that had dropped, forgotten, near your feet. Still without speaking, he squirted a little gel into the puff and pulled you away from the wall. 

A part of you wanted to tell him that was okay, that you’d already washed yourself before he joined you, but when he caught your eye, the words dried in your throat. As he washed each part of your body, he fell into a rhythm: he scrubbed you gently with the puff, then ran his hand along your skin to help the water wash the soap away, then he trailed kisses along the very same path his hand had just taken. By the time he was finished, you were feeling dizzy again, and it had nothing to do with the heat in the room. 

“Are you okay?” you finally asked, voice uncharacteristically quavery. 

He offered you his trademark Bucky grin, and it was only intensified by lust that was still in his eyes. He raised your hand to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles. “I’m gettin’ there, doll. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” You fumbled with the knobs behind you until you’d managed to turn off the water. Your ears suddenly felt hollow without the sound of the water. The two of you stood there for several moments, just...breathing, and taking each other in. He was the first to move, reaching outside the shower to get a towel, which he offered to you first. When you bent down to dry your legs, you felt a quick smack against your ass, and gave him a dirty look. It only made him laugh.

“What do you say to a pizza? We can bring it back up here so we don’t have to share it with anyone.” Despite the innocence of his words, it was impossible to miss the darker undertone. You felt your lips curling into a smirk.

The two of you had a lot of catching up to do.


End file.
